


The O.G. Prometheus

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [31]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Gen, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Everyone has plans for Halloween. Carolina is having dinner with her dad. Caboose and Wash are taking their sisters trick or treating. Church? Church is keeping his plan under wraps.
Relationships: Agent Carolina & The Director | Dr. Leonard Church, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183436
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	The O.G. Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the second half of season three! I have so much planned. :D Hope you guys enjoy a belated Halloween episode. 
> 
> Thanks go out to Aryashi as always for looking this over for me and helping hammer the episode into something interesting.

Mr. Donut takes Halloween seriously. Carolina has mostly done her curious staring during homeroom, but the cane in his hand draws her eye again as he twirls it. It almost completely distracts from his purple velvet suit and a brown thick fur coat. Almost.

He smiles cheerfully. “Before I pass out your essays, yes, I know Halloween is on Sunday. Consider this weekend a break. Just don’t eat too much candy.” He holds up the cane and waves it in warning. “We’re diving straight into _Jane Eyre_ on Monday. I’m interested in everyone’s thoughts on Rochester!”

“Is that who you’re dressed as?” someone asks.

Donut blinks. “No.”

“...Victor Frankenstein?” Wash suggests.

“Also no,” Donut says. He glances around the classroom. Carolina sees the instant he decides to keep everyone guessing. “Extra credit to whoever figures it out.”

A bunch of shouted names earn a disappointed shake of Donut’s head. “Really? No one? This is his very distinctive look! I know he lived after Mary Shelley, but--”

“Oscar Wilde,” South says, sounding bored.

Donut stops. Then he points his cane in her direction, looking both startled and pleased. “Thank you!” When she just stares back, he adds, “I’ll make sure to give you that extra credit. Now! As for everyone’s essays on _Frankenstein…._ ”

There’s a chorus of groans. He raises an eyebrow. “Come on, guys. It wasn’t that bad. And some of you got, uh, surprisingly passionate about the book.”

Carolina frowns when he glances towards Church, who’s slouched so low in his seat she’s surprised that he hasn’t ended up on the floor. He scowls back, and practically snatches his paper out of Donut’s hand as Donut starts passing out the essays.

She wonders what Church wrote. He clearly doesn’t like the book; she had been sitting with Grey and Kimball in the living room the other night when he’d thrown the book down the stairs. He’d stomped down the stairs, muttering under his breath, and they’d all watched as he stalked back up the stairs, holding the book like he wanted to throw it again.

She tries to catch Church’s eye but he’s scowling as he stuffs his essay into his backpack.

When Donut finishes passing out the essays, he leans against his desk. “It’s always disappointing when Halloween is on the weekend. I want to see costumes! What’s everyone doing for Halloween?” There’s a beat of silence, and Donut laughs and adds, “Answers get candy.”

“Caboose and I are joining forces to take our sisters trick-or-treating,” Wash says.

“I’m going to a party,” Tucker says, looking smug.

Niner snorts. “Who’d invite _you_ to a party?”

“It’s an open invite,” Tucker says. Then he seems to hear the implication. He frowns and adds hastily, “Not that I wouldn’t have been invited!”

“Uh huh,” Niner says, skepticism dripping off the word.

York leans forward in his chair. He points towards Tucker. “Oh, I know which party you're talking about. What's her name. Selena? Someone said it was gonna be better than Libby's. I hear it’s gonna be fun.”

South snorts and sneers, “Fun, or a disaster.”

“Or a disaster,” York agrees cheerfully. He seems amused by either outcome. He glances towards Carolina. Rubbing the back of his neck, he asks, “Uh, how about you, Carolina? Helping Wash out with his sisters or going to the party?”

“Oh. Uh. Neither,” Carolina says. When York looks curious, Carolina glances at Church, but he’s still slouched in his chair, looking annoyed and distracted. He’s no help. “Church and I have, uh, a family thing.” She says it neutrally, but now Niner and Wash are looking at her too.

Halloween is going to be...interesting. She knows from last year it’s a witch family holiday. In fact, Grey and Kimball are going to be visiting relatives this time. She doesn’t have anything against learning new traditions. It’s just that without her mom, it doesn’t feel like a real family holiday. And judging by the scowl on Church's face, he's going to be sulking all evening.

“Hope you have a good time,” York says, smiling.

“Hope I do too,” Carolina mumbles under her breath.

* * *

Grey might not be staying for dinner, but that hasn’t stopped her from decorating the entire house again. Stenciled bats flutter on the walls and the lights cast a faint orange glow on everything. Church eyes everything with suspicion, like he thinks something is going to jump out at him.

“Well, I hope you both have a wonderful Halloween!” Grey says. She smooths a hand down the front of her cheongsam, which is a deep purple velvet with violet and lavender stitched cats decorating it, and then checks her hair. “Tell Leonard I said hello!”

Kimball looks less enthusiastic to be visiting her relatives. Carolina remembers what Grey said last year, about Kimball’s family being unhappy about Kimball’s forced hiatus from being a Quizmaster, and feels a little guilty. Then Kimball smiles. It’s sincere, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she says, “Happy Halloween.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be great,” Church says sourly.

Grey giggles and pats Church on the shoulder. Despite the gesture, there’s no sympathy in her expression. Then she looks up as the familiar thunder rumbles through the house. She purses her lips. “Is he early or are Vanessa and I running late? Oh well, we’ll say hello and then head out.”

Kimball waves a hand towards the kitchen table. Instantly there are platters of food, familiar and unfamiliar smells filling the air. Carolina must look surprised because Kimball smiles wryly and says, “Your dad had a few suggestions, but I threw in some of your and Church’s favorites too. Enjoy.”

Carolina glances at Church, hoping the promise of his favorite food will get him to lighten up. He still looks sullen. She tries not to let Church’s bad mood affect her, but her stomach twists. The last few dinners have been okay, though her dad and Church mostly ignore each other. But Church has been grumpy all day. She doesn’t want to spend dinner playing peacemaker between them. She keeps her worry out of her voice as her dad teleports to the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi, Dad.”

He turns his head in her direction, his eyes searchingly blindly. “Carolina. Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween, Leonard! We’ll leave you all to it!” Grey says cheerfully. She turns and winks at Kimball. “Unless you’re having second thoughts about visiting your relatives, Vanessa. You can always come visit mine….”

“I’ll be fine,” Kimball says dryly. She gives Carolina and Church one last smile before she follows Grey up the stairs.

“Oh, come on!” Church calls after them. “Kimball gets invited, but when _I_ try to get out of dinner, I get told it’s mandatory?” Both women ignore him and he throws himself into the nearest chair.

“Stop,” Carolina hisses at him before she sits down next to him, within elbow reach.

Leonard blinks. He makes his careful way forward. When his hand closes on the back of an empty chair, he maneuvers himself with equal care into the seat. Then he smiles. It’s a small curl of his lips, but it lingers as he says, “My parents always began dinner with the story of the first Halloween. Though I am sure Vanessa and Emily already told you, and perhaps you want to eat--”

“I’d like to hear it again,” Carolina says before Church can say anything.

Church slouches in his seat.

* * *

This year for Halloween, Simmons has _plans_. It’s not like last year when he found out Halloween is a special holiday for witches at the very last minute.

This October he had time to buy stuff without earning the judgment of grocery store clerks, and even some privacy to decorate. Grif disappeared a little after breakfast, muttering something about this being Locus’s first Halloween as a mortal. Simmons didn’t ask questions, too grateful that Grif hadn’t invited Locus to the apartment or suggested Simmons come along.

Now Simmons is balanced carefully on the stepping stool, double-checking the streamers and giving the living room one last look over. There are black and orange streamers, a plastic cauldron filled with candy in case they get some trick or treaters, and his cassette player is halfway through playing The Monster Mash. He even found a holiday blanket that has black and white cats and brooms decorating it. It’s probably cheesy, but it’s also really soft.

The only thing Simmons is worried about is the food. Grif’s still cagey about what witches eat for the holiday -- or at least Simmons is hoping Grif was being sarcastic when he said unicorn roast and serpent soup -- so Simmons had to improvise for dinner.

Then again, it’s Grif. As long as Simmons has plenty of dessert, Grif will be fine.

He steps down from the stool just as two things happen at once: Grif scratches at the front door and the oven timer beeps. Simmons goes for the door first. If Grif isn’t letting himself in, that means there’s someone else in the hallway, and Simmons really doesn’t want to spend a second of Halloween listening to complaints that his cat wanders the building.

The door’s barely open a crack before Grif squeezes his way inside. Simmons closes the door as Grif takes three steps forward and then stops dead. His whiskers twitch. He looks around, and Simmons’ self-satisfaction takes a nosedive as Grif stares at the streamers, the cassette player, the blanket.

“Uh, what’s this?”

Simmons looks around. Maybe he overdid it. Or maybe mortal Halloween songs are offensive. Or maybe -- “It’s, uh, Halloween decorations.”

Grif gives him a look.

“You said Halloween is a family holiday for witches. We did something last year, so I thought….”

Grif keeps looking at him.

Simmons can’t get a read on his expression. He feels heat creep into his face. He clamps his mouth shut. Crap. He definitely overdid it. The cassette player shifts from The Monster Mash to Love Potion #9. Simmons inwardly groans. What kind of stupid Halloween playlist is this?

Then Grif licks the tip of his nose. He prowls over to the couch, reaching up to paw the edge of the blanket. “No bat stuff, right?”

Simmons leans against the door in relief. “No bat stuff.” Then he narrows his eyes. “I _knew_ you were afraid of bats!”

“Is that a yes or no?”

Simmons says, “No, I didn't buy anything with bats, but seriously? Bats eat mosquitoes and are more afraid of you than--”

“Uh, glass houses or whatever. I’m not listening to you defend bats when you almost fainted over a notice about there being a family of snakes behind the building.”

“ _They’re sneaky and they can get into the building, Grif_!”

“Uh huh,” Grif says, sounding amused. Then his nose twitches. He glances towards the kitchen. “You know something’s burning, right?”

Simmons frowns. Then he yelps.

“The cookies!”

* * *

“...and that is the story of the first Halloween, or at least how my mother always told it.”

Church tunes back in when Leonard stops talking. “Great story. And now the food’s cold.” He grimaces as Carolina jabs him with her elbow and glares at him. “What? It is! And reheated magical food is never as good!”

“You’ll live,” Carolina says, rolling her eyes. She gives him a warning look, and then refocuses on Leonard. "So that's why families get together for Halloween? Are there any other traditions? Ms. Kimball says her family usually eats Thanksgiving style food."

Even blind, somehow Leonard’s eyes seem to light up. Of course he’d get excited to nerd out over witch traditions. Church sighs and starts shoveling food onto his plate, glancing up at the clock as Leonard launches into a long-winded explanation of Halloween meals varying from witch family to witch family.

When Leonard pauses for breath, Church cuts in. “Yeah, some witches in the Other Realm get real weird about dinner. Who wants to eat owls?”

Carolina stops with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Owls?”

Leonard sighs. “As I said, traditions vary.”

“Yeah, but...owls?”

“Better than unicorn brisket,” Church says, and then feels a little bad when Carolina puts her fork down, looking slightly queasy. He adds quickly, “But Kimball wouldn't surprise us with that, so we’re good. Nothing weird here.”

“Good,” Carolina says sincerely. She looks at her plate, like she’s debating if she’s got her appetite back. She sighs. “At least Doctor Huggins didn’t bring anything weird last year.”

Church groans. “Aw, crap. I forgot.” He’s already pissed off at this entire day, especially having to play at pretend family with Leonard. Now he feels dread. He can’t deal with Leonard and Huggins at the same time. He glances up towards the stairs. Thankfully Carolina mentioning her name hasn’t summoned her.

At least Leonard also looks alarmed, his blind eyes comically wide, before his expression settles into a neutral look. Only the tightness of his jaw shows that he’s as uncomfortable as Church at the idea of spending this meal with Huggins.

Carolina, meanwhile, looks amused by their reactions. Her mouth twitches. “Do you think she’s coming this year too? You _are_ her favorite fake son.”

Church makes a face at her. Could she _pretend_ to be sympathetic? Then he looks over, startled, as Leonard clears his throat.

“Carolina, could you go upstairs for a moment while I do something?”

“Um,” Carolina says. She glances towards Church, who shrugs. “Sure?”

Church stays where he is, curious despite himself. Besides, Leonard didn’t tell _him_ to leave. He can tell the moment Carolina steps out of the range of the spell because Leonard winces, blinks, and the color seeps back into his eyes.

Leonard pauses just long enough to notice Church and then visibly decide to ignore his presence. He snaps his fingers. A piece of paper and pen appear in front of him. He writes something with quick, hasty movements. Then he snaps his fingers again. This time an envelope appears.

Church has no idea what Leonard’s doing, but that doesn’t stop from temporarily ignoring his food to instead prop his chin in his hand and watch the weird little show.

Leonard glances around. When he spies the toaster, he rises and puts the envelope inside. Then he presses the plunger and waits, drumming his fingers against the kitchen counter-top, his lips thin.

After a minute, Church gets bored. “Expecting an--”

There’s an explosion of sound and color. Church instinctively ducks.

“Dear Leonard!” a vaguely familiar voice chirps. “Thank you so much for thinking of me! My uncle insisted I spend the holiday with him, so no, I won’t be visiting this year. Tell James I hope he has a wonderful Halloween and I’ll see you at--”

There’s another sound, like Leonard’s snapped his fingers, and the voice cuts off.

Church cautiously pokes his head back up over the table.

Black and orange confetti coats Leonard’s hair and shoulders. His expression is bemused, like he doesn’t understand what just happened.

Church laughs. It’s one of those laughs that starts in his stomach and shakes his entire body. He keeps laughing as Leonard frowns in his direction, less annoyed than apparently still confused and absorbing the fact that he’s covered in glittering confetti.

When Church looks closer, he realizes that the confetti is shaped like pumpkins and bats. He laughs again. He’s still snickering as Leonard snaps his fingers.

The confetti lifts off Leonard and sparks into a few dozen small flames. Church is still blinking when the flames turn to smoke. Then the smoke vanishes like there was never any confetti at all.

“Show off,” Church mutters.

Leonard gives him a look. It’s annoyed, but also questioning too, like he seriously doesn’t see how he was showing off. Before Church can call him out on it, Leonard calls, “Carolina, you can come back downstairs.”

Church glances up and spies the clock again. His momentary amusement disappears like the confetti. He needs to leave right now or he’ll have wasted way too much money. He shovels some more food in his mouth, ignoring the way Leonard’s eyebrows rise. “Your lucky day,” he says after he swallows. “You’ll have Carolina all to yourself in a minute.”

“Why?” Leonard asks.

Church gets up and grabs his essay from where he stuffed in under the couch cushion. “None of your business.”

“And what should I tell Vanessa and Emily?”

Church ignores the question.

He meets Carolina halfway up the stairs, and only realizes that he didn’t think of a decent excuse for her when she asks, her eyes going to the essay clutched in his hand, “Where are you going?”

Church shrugs. “Figured you’d want some one on one time with him. Happy Halloween.”

“Okay, but--”

He slides past her, pretending not to see her suspicious expression.

“Church, we just got ungrounded.”

There’s exasperation in her voice, but worry too. Church pauses at the top of the stairs. He smiles at her and it mostly doesn’t feel forced. “Don’t worry. I asked Grey to use the closet.”

Carolina’s eyes narrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” This time when Carolina doesn’t look reassured, Church shrugs and sidles towards the closet door. He needs to get going. “Ask Grey if you don’t believe me.”

“I won’t, but I probably should,” is the last thing Church hears before he steps into the closet.

* * *

Grif’s being weird.

He barely mocked Simmons’ burned cookies as Simmons wrested them, faintly smoking, from the oven. He was quiet even as Simmons piled the food onto a couple plates and carried them out to the coffee table.

The tape has kept going. Right now it’s blasting The Devil Went Down to Georgia, which is a really weird choice for Halloween. Simmons should probably find a different cassette for next year. Or just no music at all. That’s probably better.

He turns off the cassette player and grabs the TV remote. Then he hesitates. If Grif thinks Simmons overdid, he’s really going to think so in another second. Simmons licks his lips. “I, uh. You said you usually watch _The Thing_ so I grabbed it from Blockbuster. We could watch another movie or--”

Grif jumps onto the couch. His tail twitches as he says, “Nah, _The Thing_ works.”

“Right,” Simmons says. Grif’s tone is as impossible to read as his expression.

Resigning himself to an awkward night, Simmons presses play. He feels stupid as he moves towards the couch. He wanted to make this a nice night, as a sort of thank you and apology for the last few weeks, something to make up for ignoring Grif’s concerns about overdoing his magic experiments. Plus it’s a family holiday, no matter how Grif plays it off. He used to spend this holiday with _someone_.

Simmons sits down. A second later Grif is in his lap. Simmons blinks at him as Grif stretches across his legs, draped so that Simmons can feel what he couldn’t hear before: a rumbling purr. His shoulders loosen. He instinctively reaches down and scratches behind Grif's ears. “Happy Halloween.”

“Uh, yeah,” Grif mumbles even as he rubs his head against Simmons’ fingers. “You too.”

Something clicks in Simmons’ brain. Grif doesn’t sound weirded out. He sounds flustered. Did he think Simmons was just going to ignore Halloween completely? Simmons debates asking, and just keeps scratching behind Grif’s ears instead.

It’s nice. At least until the movie startles Grif, and all twenty claws dig into Simmons’ legs.

“Ow!” Simmons winces. “I thought you’ve seen this before!”

“I have,” Grif snaps.

“Then don’t claw me!”

Grif snorts. “I didn’t even draw blood, you baby.” Still, he shifts so that his paws dangle off Simmons’ legs, ready to maim the couch cushions instead.

* * *

All Hallows Eve. A time when the veil is thinnest and the living and the dead may speak to each other. A day where witches, for witches exist, may summon any soul they wish from death to speak to them.

Mary disdains All Hallows Eve. It has been almost one hundred and fifty years since her death, and still witches persist in dragging her into a small, cramped room and accosting her with inane questions about her husband’s heart or if she and Percy really consummated their love upon her mother’s grave. It’s ridiculous.

When the half-expected door shimmers into existence before her, she sighs.

She steps through it and stops, her hand poised on the handle.

Witches’ ages can sometimes be hard to decipher for they age so strangely and slowly, but the witch pacing the room is definitely young, fourteen or sixteen perhaps, and clearly agitated. He stares at her with blazing green eyes and says, “You’re Mary Shelley who wrote _Frankenstein_ , right? I paid good money for this reanimation, I don’t want Percy’s sister or--”

Her surprise shifts to resignation. She wonders which question he’ll ask. Mary closes the door behind her and assures him flatly, “I am the authoress of _The Modern Prometheus_. If you are here to inquire about my intimate life--”

“Who cares about that?” the boy snarls. He thrusts something at her face and she recoils before she realizes it is merely paper. “I want to talk about how stupid your book is!”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, it starts weird. What’s the deal with the letters at the beginning? No one cares about that captain guy being all ‘none of the sailors are smart enough to be my friend’ or whatever. And the whole story in a story in a story is dumb.”

“Young man,” Mary says, staring. “Are you--” _Actually here to discuss my novel_? She doesn’t get the rest of the question out, because the boy glares at her and shouts.

“No! I coughed up the money, and you have to _listen_!”

The intensity in his voice amazes Mary into silence. She’s torn between concern and a disgruntled writer’s vanity as the boy continues to speak, lambasting the novel in ways even her fiercest critics might have avoided. He takes offense at all of Victor’s decisions, but also lays the blame of the Creature’s crimes at her feet as well as Victor’s, as though she purposefully wrote the book just to antagonize him in particular a hundred and seventy-five years into the future.

He tears so thoroughly into her novel that Mary begins to wonder if impolite questions about her relationship with her husband wouldn’t be more preferable.

* * *

Carolina spends a few seconds worrying about what Church is up to. Then her dad calls her name. She sighs and heads downstairs. If Church wants to get grounded again, that’s on him.

Still, she hesitates before sitting down. She can’t help but wonder if her dad had anything to do with Church’s sudden escape, if they waited until she was out of earshot to argue. She hopes not. They’ve been getting better, if not anywhere close to good. Her dad asks Church about the Robotics Club and Church answers with minimal sarcasm, but otherwise they mostly ignore each other. It’s a work in progress. A slow, awkward work in progress.

She bites her lip. “Church ran out of here pretty fast. Did you guys, uh. Did you talk?” Argue, she means, and can tell her dad knows it by the sudden rueful twist of his mouth.

“I admit to some...hostility in the past,” her dad says. “But on this occasion he seemed preoccupied with his own machinations, whatever they may be.”

“So you don’t know what he’s doing?”

For a second, her dad looks almost amused. “Carolina, if he hasn’t enlightened you on whatever he has planned tonight, he certainly wouldn’t tell me. I haven't the slightest idea.”

Then he clears his throat. His features settle into more familiar, serious lines. “While I have to you myself, however, I would like to tell you more about our family.”

“Oh,” Carolina says. She sits down. “You would? You never really talked about them...before.”

Despite bringing up her grandparents first, her dad is quiet for a moment. Then he says slowly, “There was so much that I couldn’t tell you about them without lying about magic or breaking Council law, and so it seemed easier just to wait until you were sixteen. Perhaps that wasn’t the right decision, but….”

Carolina understands, a little. She thinks of all the times she’s wanted to confide in Wash and Niner and then said nothing because it felt wrong, cobbling together a bunch of half-truths. “I’d love to hear about them,” she says, meaning it. All four of her grandparents died before she was born, but she’s heard at least a handful of stories about her mom’s parents, dairy farmers from Texas who had been very confused but supportive of their only daughter’s decision to join the Marines.

Her dad straightens in his chair. “You get your red hair from your grandmother and from your mother’s great-grandmother, you know. I wish photography had been more prevalent before they passed, so I could show you.”

“You could use Church’s memory spell,” Carolina suggests.

The idea earns her a puzzled look. “His what?”

Carolina frowns before she realizes that her dad wouldn’t have seen the photographs. “Oh. For my birthday, he did a spell so I could make photographs of some of my favorite memories.” She pauses, wondering what he would think of her selection. “You could, uh, go and see them if you want. They’re all on my wall.”

She can’t read her dad’s expression when he nods and snaps his fingers and vanishes from sight. She looks down at her half-forgotten plate and picks up her fork, poking at the cold food and trying not to second-guess the memories she chose.

She wonders what Church is doing.

* * *

“And what was with all the random side characters? Who can keep all these names straight? Like this guy who’s apparently Victor's friend, who the--”

* * *

It feels like a long time before Carolina’s dad comes back downstairs, though it’s probably only a couple minutes.

She studies his expression as he sits down, trying to figure out what he thought of Church’s present and the photographs, but he just looks distracted.

“I’ll bring a photograph of your grandparents on Tuesday.”

Carolina is a little disappointed when he doesn’t say anything else. At least she has that photograph to look forward to. “So you know the spell too? I didn’t know if Church found it himself or remembered….” She trails off as her dad’s expression changes.

“Ah,” he says. His lips go thin, distraction replaced by tension. “I had theorized there was some memory transfer. I take it from your comment that I was correct?” He doesn’t look happy at the idea.

Carolina remembers, with a twinge of unease, when Church forgot himself, how her dad’s icy drawl had come out of his mouth. It had been creepy even for a minute.

That’s not her story to tell her dad. And she doesn’t know if it would help or hurt the truce they’ve made with each other during the past few dinners. She says, “You could ask him about it.”

“Perhaps,” is the noncommittal answer.

That probably means no. Carolina gives him a look, realizes he can’t see it, and feels a little ridiculous before she sighs and changes the topic. “So, what were my grandparents’ names?”

There’s a flicker of emotion in her dad’s face. She can’t tell if it’s relief or surprise. Probably relief, because his jaw relaxes and his tone warms as he answers.

“Noemi and Jonatan.”

At first she thinks that’s all he’s going to say, but then he keeps talking, a faint, wistful quirk to his mouth. “My mother began the cauldron business. That’s how they met. My father was studying metallurgy and how different metals enhanced or stymied magical workings. A fascinating subject, really. After a few centuries, they found a way to build cauldrons that were resistant to magical destruction. Not invincible, of course, but the cauldrons proved sturdy enough that they’re still the standard cauldron for new witches.”

Carolina doesn’t really care about cauldrons, but she likes seeing her dad like this. She settles back in her chair as he continues.

“I grew up in the mortal realm. In, ah, the names have changed so many times. I think it would be a part of France or Germany now? My parents insisted on calling it Francia orientalis long after even Otto I was dead.”

Carolina blinks. She ignores the casual way her dad mentions a place that Carolina is pretty sure hasn’t existed for over a thousand years. Instead she focuses on the first part. “You grew up in the mortal realm? I thought, uh. You know what. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about where most witches live.”

Her dad frowns at that. “I thought Vanessa and Emily were going to introduce you to your witch peers.”

Carolina winces. She was hoping everyone had forgotten about that idea. What’s wrong with her hanging out with Wash and Niner and Connie? She doesn’t want to throw Kimball and Grey under the bus for not introducing her to witches her age, though. “Right. They’re going to. Just wanted me to adjust to the school year and having a Quizmaster first.”

“...I see,” her dad says, looking unconvinced.

Carolina sends a silent apology Kimball and Grey’s way. “So you grew up in the mortal realm.”

It’s his turn to give her a look, his blind eyes gazing slightly to the left of her but his expression saying that he recognizes her weak attempt to change the subject. “My parents may have opted for a traditional occupation, but they still marched to their own drummer. They preferred the mortal realm, and so I grew up there.” He pauses. “There weren't many witches in the mortal realm, or at least none my parents knew well, so I grew up with mortal friends.”

Carolina tries to imagine her dad as a kid and can’t really picture him, even with Church for a reference. She grins. “What did you and your friends do?”

Her dad seems surprised by the question, then pensive. “What most children do, I suppose,” he says slowly. “Avoid our schoolwork and play games.”

“Games?”

“Many of the same ones your mother and I taught you. Tag, hide and seek. Games that have changed in name only. Oh, and of course kugelach.” He chuckles, and Carolina blinks at the sudden rueful humor in his face. “You won’t remember this, but I made the mistake of trying to teach you kugelach with the original stones my father gave me. Of course you lost them showing them to another child. Performing that finding spell was one of the few times I did magic anywhere near you.”

“Was it hard not to use magic around me?”

The question brings back her dad’s rueful look. “It was difficult, I will admit. The habits of a millennia are difficult to break. But the alternative was-- well. But, ah, well. By the time you were old enough to understand what magic was, I had trained myself to do things in the mortal way. The only thing I never quite accustomed myself to was enduring mortal travel. Traveling via closet is so much easier.”

Carolina remembers Grey clearly doing a spell to keep the airplane up in the air and Kimball and Grey's general cluelessness about air travel. “Witches aren't fans of planes?”

“They’re _dreadful_.”

* * *

The boy keeps talking.

He works himself into the worst of tempers, his face flushed, his voice shaking as violently as the papers in his white-knuckled grip. All Mary can do is stare in bemusement while he continues to snarl.

“And then what kind of ending was that? The Creature just wanders off and _dies_? Like he can’t live without Frankenstein! The dude sucked as a dad. Screw him! And then that stuff with Victor’s family. Why would the Creature hurt _them_? They were innocent! And maybe they would’ve accepted him or-- it’s stupid! Your book is stupid.” He throws the paper onto the couch and rubs at his eyes. “You wrote the Creature all wrong,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Just because-- just because he was made doesn’t mean-- he didn’t have to die lonely and angry. He could’ve been happy. Just because-- He didn’t have to be lonely. I’m not-- I--”

Mary stares, astonished to realize that the boy is seemingly on the verge of tears. She studies him as his jaw works and he swallows back whatever else he was about to say as his voice cracks.

He rubs at his eyes again, his glasses dangling from his other hand, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. He looks real enough when she steps closer. His face is splotchy and red from shouting, his shoulders heaving with emotion. He is curled into himself not like a frustrated youth, but like an infant in a tantrum.

She tilts her head. This is certainly the strangest encounter she has had with a witch, but a suspicion blooms in the back of her mind. “I think I am beginning to understand,” she says softly.

He blinks glassy green eyes. “What?”

“You are some witch’s creation,” she says, and knows that she’s right by the way he recoils from her, taking a step back and almost tripping over the couch. “Did he bring you to life like Victor, then? Did he wish for a son?”

The boy makes a harsh sound, like he’s trying to laugh. It sounds more like a stifled sob. His expression twists. “Not exactly,” he mumbles.

Mary feels a pang of sympathy, even if she doesn’t wholly understand. Still, she can’t stand here unaffected by the child’s distress. “My novel spoke of all your worst fears, did it not? That you are some unlovable creation, doomed like the Creature.”

“No, I--” The boy’s voice cracks again. “I’m not a creation-- I’m--”

Mary holds up a hand. “Peace. Everyone is a creation.” She studies him again. His expression is so young, as lost as her son’s had been when she tried to explain his father’s fate. “But you're young, aren't you? Even younger than you appear.”

The boy hesitates. Then he nods.

Mary smiles at him, and says in reassurance to the confusion in his features, “Then you have time. Time to understand the lessons the Creature never learned, time to see Victor’s mistakes, time to be like Captain Walton and to turn back away from doom. You said the Creature didn’t have to be lonely.”

The boy’s face crumples. One tear slides down his cheek, and then another. He makes another sound like a stifled sob, clenching his jaw against it, like if he tries hard enough he can weather through the emotions choking him.

He goes stock still as Mary takes his face in her hands. His face is flushed hotly like her children’s had when they were weeping or upset. She feels an old pang of grief, but it isn’t time for that. She wipes a tear from his face.

He flinches. For a second she thinks he’s going to wrench out of her grasp. Then his entire body folds in on himself, and he leans into her touch, sobs wracking his frame. She wipes away a few more tears.

His weeping only quiets when the lights flicker to give the five minute warning. Then he chokes out a wet laugh and straightens, scrubbing at his red-rimmed eyes. He’s breathing hard, but his sorrow is tempered by embarrassment and frustration.

“Sorry,” he says, not meeting her gaze. His voice is rough. “I, uh. I didn’t--”

Mary pats his damp face. “I have been told that a great bout of weeping is sometimes cleansing for the soul and mind.” She thinks of her own sorrows and feels her lips twist downwards. “I never found it so, but I hope you feel better.”

He grimaces. “I’ll get back to you,” he says. His eyes flick up towards the lights, squinting before he remembers his glasses and puts them on. “Or not.” He coughs and wipes at his face again. The embarrassment lingers.

She smooths his hair away from his eyes, the way she would sometimes do for Percy, before she steps back. The door tugs at her, an irresistible pressure in her chest, but she lingers a moment. He looks wrung out from his emotions. “I have no witchcraft in my blood, young man, to know what is in store for you. But I wish you luck and friendship.”

His embarrassed frown remains for a moment before a lopsided smile slowly replaces it. There’s a curious reluctance in his expression, as though he’s smiling in spite of himself. “Uh. Thanks.”

The door opens easily in her grip. Mary gives the boy one final smile as the hour strikes and an invisible clock begins to chime. The sound follows her while she steps through to return to her family.

Then the chimes and the door are gone.

* * *

Carolina looks up as thunder rolls and the light fixtures tremble above their heads. Her dad does too, seemingly by instinct. She frowns and glances at the clock. If it’s Church, he went on a shorter trip than she expected. It’s barely been thirty minutes.

A second later, there’s stomping of feet and the hard slam of the door.

“...I guess Church doesn’t want dessert,” Carolina mutters. She intends it to be under her breath, but it’s loud enough that her dad tilts his head in her direction.

“Is that unusual?”

Carolina laughs. “Oh. Right. Yeah, Church eats a lot of sweets. I don’t know how because American desserts are kind of gross, but he loves them.”

Her dad stares. She didn’t think it was that weird of a thing, but her dad looks confused, like Carolina told him Church’s favorite food is bugs. He starts to speak, and then clearly changes the question he was going to ask when the doorbell rings. “Were you expecting company?”

Carolina shrugs before she remembers again he can’t see the gesture. “It’s probably some trick or treaters.” She looks at her dad’s colorless eyes, weighs her options, and says, “I’ll go give them some candy. You stay here.”

“Gladly,” she thinks he mutters, but she’s already out of her chair, heading for the front door and the bowl of candy Kimball left behind for kids.

She’s half-deafened when she opens the door by full-throated shouts of, “Trick or treat!”

“Treat, of course,” Carolina says, shaking her head a little to clear it. She looks over the dozen girls dressed in a wild variety of costumes as she holds out the bowl and the dozen small fists grab candy. Then the familiar faces register and she laughs. “Hey, guys.”

Wash and Caboose wave at her from behind their sisters.

“Hi, Carolina!” Caboose says cheerfully. He peers over her shoulder. “Is Church still doing the family thing?”

Carolina hesitates. She doesn’t know what Church was up to, but judging by the door slamming and stomping, it didn’t put him in the best of moods. “He’s upstairs, but--” She stops as Caboose wades through his sisters and they part like the Red Sea.

He pauses just long enough to look at his sisters and say, “Stay here and have a piece of candy, and then we’ll go to the next house, okay?” Then he bounds up the stairs, calling, “Happy Halloween, Church!”

Carolina smiles at Wash. “Having a good night?”

Wash makes a face. Upon close inspection, he looks rumpled and a little frazzled. There’s a smudge of blue face paint on his jaw, probably from the Caboose sister who decided to dress up as a Smurf. “Why did I agree to help Caboose? He has so many sisters.”

Carolina figures that’s a rhetorical question. She offers him a piece of candy. When he bites into it like he’s starving, she wonders if she should offer some of their dinner. That would involve opening the kitchen door and risking everyone seeing her dad, though, so she just offers him another candy.

“Thanks,” he says. Then his expression changes, just a little. “How’d the family thing go?”

Carolina shrugs.

Wash snorts. “Yeah.”

Someone tugs at Carolina’s hand. When she looks down, one of Caboose’s sisters is clinging to her, sticky fingers curled around Carolina’s. Carolina isn’t the best at judging ages, but she thinks this might be the youngest sister.

“Um, hi.”

The girl stares. Her pumpkin bag of candy is abandoned at her feet. She keeps hold of Carolina’s hand. Her other fist is jammed against her mouth as she licks at chocolate stains. There’s probably some candy stains on her nice pink dress too, but Carolina doesn’t look too closely.

Carolina looks at Wash, but he just looks amused.

“Uh,” she says. Four-year-olds can have short conversations, right? She smiles. “Are you having a good Halloween?” When the girl doesn’t say anything, Carolina taps the top of her silver tiara. “You’re a very cute princess.”

The girl keeps staring.

One of her sisters says, “She’s not a princess, she’s _Glinda_.”

“Oh,” Carolina says blankly.

The second girl’s eyes widen. She looks scandalized. “You don’t know Glinda the Good Witch?”

“Uh.” Carolina looks at Wash for help, but he’s giving her a weird look too. “This is a movie thing, right?” she half-whispers to him. “Is it a new movie?”

Wash shakes his head. “Seriously, you’ve never seen _The Wizard of Oz_?”

“The Wizard? I thought Glinda was--” The rest of the group is looking at Carolina now. She sighs at the sea of baffled faces. “I’ll watch it later.”

She’s still trying to figure out what else to say when Caboose comes back downstairs alone, looking thoughtful. There’s no sign of Church.

“Michael!” the scandalized sister says. She points a finger at Carolina, who isn’t sure whether she should laugh or be offended by the way the girl proclaims, “She doesn’t know who Glinda is!” like it’s the weirdest thing she’s ever heard.

For a second Caboose doesn’t seem to hear. Then he blinks. His attention refocuses. Carolina is treated to another curious look, though at least Caboose smiles when he says, “Maybe we could do a movie night.”

“Maybe,” Carolina says. She glances past him.

“I think Church isn’t feeling well,” Caboose says.

“Oh.” Carolina frowns. She thinks about Church stomping down the hall and slamming the door. He’s probably just sulking and just told Caboose that so he’d leave him alone, but she still decides to check on him after everyone and her dad are gone.

Caboose’s expression turns expectant.

“I’ll check on him later,” she promises.

“Okay! My mom gives me peppermint tea when I have a headache.”

“I’ll see if we have any,” Carolina says.

Caboose starts herding his and Wash’s sisters towards the door. “Good night, Carolina! See you and Church tomorrow!”

Wash gets caught up in the crowd. He rolls his eyes but lets himself get herded with the girls, giving a wave over his shoulder before he disappears out the door.

When Carolina returns to the kitchen, her dad greets her with an unexpected question.

“Did we really never show you _The Wizard of Oz_?”

Carolina blinks. “What is this movie? How do you know it?”

Her dad drums his fingers against the edge of the table. “It was one of the first successful Technicolor films, an interesting feat of mortal ingenuity.” He pauses. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Also the movie caused considerable controversy in the witch community for a time.”

Carolina squints, but he seems serious. “Why? Glinda the Good Witch….” She trails off when her dad shakes his head.

“Yes, a woman who's barely in the film. Meanwhile the entire story revolves around two wicked witches. One of whom is murdered rather horribly at the start. People....” He stops again, this time as though searching for the right word.

“Hated that?” Carolina suggests.

Her dad looks like that’s an understatement, but he nods.

* * *

“Glad to see everyone survived Halloween,” Niner says, grinning as the bell rings for homeroom.

“Barely,” Wash says.

When Carolina looks at him, he does look tired, even more than he had when he was devouring candy at the brownstone. He and Church almost have matching shadows under their eyes.

Then Wash glances at Tucker. He grins. “Enjoy your party? Or did you get kicked out with no invite?”

Tucker laughs. “Dude, I told you it wasn’t that kind of party. ...But seriously, that was the _weirdest_ party I’ve ever been to.”

“Yeah, cause you’ve been to so many parties,” Connie drawls.

He scowls at her and then continues. “It started out really boring, like people were actually _reading_ at one point. It was bad. I was seriously about to leave, and then all of a sudden she whips out these special effects and this huge mountain of candy corn pours into the room! And then-- okay I know this sounds fake, but everyone who was there will back me up, it really happened. The 10,000 Maniacs showed up!”

“What?”

“Yeah!” Tucker shakes his head. “And I thought last year when Libby streaked was exciting.”

A second later, he chokes and flails as South leans over in her chair and gets him in a choke-hold. “No one’s supposed to talk about that,” she says flatly, ignoring his struggles until Mr. Donut says, sounding exasperated, “No choke-holds in school, thank you.”

Carolina uses the distraction to surreptitiously study Church. He’s smirking. It’s the first time he’s looked anything but grumpy since before Halloween. Last night she’d knocked on his door and tried to check on him, but he’d just snapped, “Can I sleep?” She’d ended up leaving a plate of dessert for him in the hallway.

Now she leans over and nudges him. He blinks at her, and then rolls his eyes when she says, “Sorry you missed out on candy corn.”

“Yeah, I’ll live.” He suddenly brightens. “Wait, discount candy.”

Carolina shakes her head. “Enjoy your cavities.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Fun trivia fact:** [Mary Shelley](https://www.biography.com/.image/t_share/MTE5NTU2MzE2MzY5NjE4NDQz/mary-shelley-9481497-2-raw.jpg) was played by [Cherie Lunghi](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/59/41/c9/5941c9a3a4593afa3242957e291783fc--beautiful-women-actresses.jpg), who is played Victor Frankenstein's mom in a 1994 film.


End file.
